


Lost and Found

by battle_cat



Series: Together [17]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cunnilingus, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Masturbation, Pining, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8334181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: She finds him in a cave in the ragged scrub of mountains that runs northwest of Citadel territory.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the smutty_arts collection.

She finds him in a cave in the ragged scrub of mountains that runs northwest of Citadel territory.

She had followed the tracks as if they were laid out like a beacon for her, and she isn’t quite certain how she knows it’s him, but when her bike rounds the final switchback up to the wide mouth of the cave she is not surprised to see the low-raked snout of the Interceptor in the shadows.

She wheels the bike into the cave and he is there, leaning against the side of the car like he expected her all along. The Interceptor is parked nose-out for a quick getaway, but other than that, Max looks as relaxed and easy as she’s ever seen him. His feet and his chest are bare, and Furiosa thinks about how hard it had been to coax him out of his shirt even in the privacy of her own room at first. Now he looks like he could be lounging around the Citadel on a rest-day morning, not camped in a mountain cave in unclaimed territory. Maybe it’s different when there are no people around.

He smiles when she meets his gaze. She can see the remains of a fire further back in the cave, his bedroll and pack tucked into a corner. He’s been here for some time.

He seems unconcerned about any potential threats, so it doesn’t feel strange to leave her rifle in its holster on the bike. She strips off her dusty scarf and goggles and crosses to stand next to him, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

“Found you,” she says softly.

“Knew you would.” His smile is the subtlest crinkle around his eyes, a minute twitch at the corner of his mouth.

She leans an inch closer and their lips meet. His mouth is warm and soft, his hands cautious on her cheek, her lower back. They kiss slowly, and it seems to go on forever.

At some point she breaks the kiss and leans against him, flesh hand against the bare skin of his back, metal one braced carefully on the car door to avoid scratching him. His arms wrap securely around her. He is warm and solid, compact muscle and a steady heartbeat she can feel against her own chest, under her cheekbone when she tucks her forehead against his neck. She lets herself drift on the even rise and fall of his breathing.

“Why did you run?” she says after some time. She feels his shoulders shift in a shrug.

“I miss you,” she says. It’s so comforting, resting here with his arms around her.

He makes a considering hum that rumbles low against her torso. “Could stay here,” he offers.

“Can’t.” She knows she has responsibilities, duties from which her absence will be noted. It’s hard to remember exactly what they are right now, but she feels the pull of nameless obligation even from within the circle of his arms.

She pulls back a little so she can see his face, his expression earnest and open, his eyes very green in the midday light. He hasn’t let his hair and beard grow out wild yet, has maybe even shaved recently, nothing more than a dusting of golden-brown stubble on his cheeks.

She rests her forehead against his. “I need you.” It comes out in a whisper. “Will you come home?”

He doesn’t say anything, but when she dares to flick her gaze up to meet his, he nods, a slight wrinkle in his brow as he watches her.

This time the kiss is heated, bodies pressed close together, his fingers digging into her back. A hand slides down to palm her ass, pulling their hips together. Her flesh fingers are in his hair, her shortened arm around the back of his neck. He twitches when the metal fingers brush his shoulderblade, but then he just pulls her harder against him.

Somehow she ends up pressed against the car, his mouth on the tender spot below her jaw while he fumbles to undo her belt. He tugs her leathers down and drops to his knees—if the stone floor hurts him, he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t bother to tease, just spreads her open and grinds his tongue against her clit, and it’s sudden and intense enough to make her hips buck, make her clamp both hands on the car door for support. His hands dig hard into her flesh of her thighs as he licks and suck, and she moans, head tipped back, flushed and dizzy with pleasure—

 

She wakes up in a cold bed at the Citadel, blankets tangled and heat burning between her thighs. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to cling to the warmth and intensity of the dream, but it’s slipping away like fog burned off by the sunrise.

It’s night and she’s alone. Max has been gone for forty days.

He hadn’t made it through a single hour of Dag’s newborn baby’s wails before loading up a bike and running. The Interceptor is still in the Citadel’s garage, its repairs unfinished, the blackthumbs giving it a wide, reverent berth. Half of her clings desperately to the bare thread of hope that the car being here means he’ll eventually return, and the other half girds itself against the certainty that she’ll never see him again.

In her dream voice she had said she missed him, said she needed him. It’s a terrifying prospect after thousands of days counting on no one but herself. She can’t imagine ever saying such things out loud.

Now that the shock of waking up has dissipated, she’s very aware of the demanding pulse in her cunt. She sticks a hand in her shorts and works at her clit, more mechanical efficiency than anything that could be called sensual.

She’s not sure if thinking about him will make things better or worse, but bits of sense-memory drift to the surface anyway: the sharp scent of his sweat that has long since left the bedding, the way he’ll bury his face against her shoulder when something is just on the edge of being too intense, the way he feels moving inside her—

She makes herself come harder than she expected, a long shuddery wave that makes her bite back a moan.

When she’s done quivering with aftershocks she realizes her cheeks are damp. She swipes away the tears hastily, even though there’s no one there to see them.


End file.
